Page 36 of Nocturnes & Nightmares

“All except you?”

“I never really talked to him much, until last night. But he seems like a nice guy. Which is a rarity these days.”

“He’s probably trying to screw you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is he an older guy? Younger guy?” My question is part curiosity, part ruling out a potential killer.

“Younger than me.”

Too young to be my sadistic uncle then.

“If I was attracted to a woman, I’d play the nice guy angle, drive her home to find out where she lives. If he pops in to check on you, he’s definitely trying to get you in the sack.”

“Well, thanks for that … worldly advice, Voss. That’s my car parked over there.”

I turn into the lot of the Cobblestone bar and pull up behind the white Jeep. “Good luck today, Star Wars.”

“Thanks for the ride,” she says, clambering out of the passenger seat. “Good luck at your … meeting, or whatever you’re doing.”

The moment she reaches the Jeep, I steer the Audi toward the exit, waiting on the rush of traffic. In my rearview, I see her get into the car, and after a good thirty seconds, it still doesn’t fire up, evident in the lack of smoke from the exhaust.

It’s only when the traffic has passed, and I turn out onto the road, that I see her climb out of the Jeep, throwing her arms up into the air.

My guess is that her piece of shit car won’t start.

‘Fucks sake, this woman is one disaster after the next. Everything inside of me says it’s not my problem. She’s not my problem. After all, I didn’t come here to play guardian angel to a woman who doesn’t seem to have her shit together. I came to catch a deranged psychopath, who plans to add a new set of eyeballs to his collection.

And yet, without much prompting from my head, I turn the car back around and, parking alongside her, find her clutching the steering wheel and resting her forehead against it. There’s something about her that I can’t quite put my finger on. She’s strong, but vulnerable in a way that doesn’t come off as pathetic. It appeals to me, somehow. The tenacity of a woman who refuses to break, even when shit keeps weighing her down.

A sadist’s wet dream.

The moment she catches sight of me, she turns her head, as if to keep me from seeing her, and wipes at her cheeks.

Leaning onto my elbow, I stroke my chin to bury the chuckle begging to escape. Not at her, but at the ridiculous nature of it all. If this were a cartoon, the vehicle would fall apart all around her, and she’d still be left stubbornly clutching that steering wheel. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s nothing, Voss. Really. I called my brother. They’re just getting home from church, but he’s going to come get me. So, you don’t have to stay here.”

“What’s happening with the vehicle?”

“I tried to turn the key over, and it’s not starting. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“Have you called a tow truck?”

“I’m waiting for my insurance to tell me if it’s covered.”

“And if it’s not?”

“I’m just trying to take this one step at a time, so I don’t lose my shit and end up in a straitjacket. But either way, I’ll figure it out. So, just go.”

“How about I give you the rent and security deposit we talked about, but never finalized. Three thousand, I think? You call a tow truck, a therapist, whatever you need to deal with the problem.”

“It was only the security deposit and the first month’s rent. Twenty five hundred.”

“Well, I haven’t yet gotten rid of the cat, so consider the extra a pet deposit.”

“The cat is the least of my worries right now. If this ends up being the starter, I’m probably going to need a case of Xanax, more than anything.”